


What we make of it

by window_to_the_soul



Category: Original Work
Genre: ABO, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Trans Character, all of the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-05 10:48:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17323601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/window_to_the_soul/pseuds/window_to_the_soul
Summary: It's night, and she's lonely.





	What we make of it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KristinStone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KristinStone/gifts).



> Merry.........  
> well. It's not Christmas anymore, but we decided to give our presents when we met again, so here you go.  
> KristinStone, please don't murder me for the flamingo or the pineapple or the toucan. I'm sorry, Elli forced me.

It’s dark in the alley. Cold, too. She’s looking up at the stars, but they arn’t visible, not with the light from the distant cars rushing by, or the street lights, or the neon signs from cheap clubs. She shivers, huddling closer to the body beside her. 

“D’you have another pill?” he asks. She nods, almost absent-mindedly. Fishes around in her pocket, taking out a nondescript, little white thing. White powder on her dirt-streaked fingers. Hands it to him. She knows how much he’s had, how much he still could take safely without overdosing. “Thanks.” He takes the vile thing, swallowing it dry. She feels his body relax, his breath come more freely.  
“Thanks,” he repeats. 

“No problem,” she lies.

~

She was alone. Sitting at the big kitchen table, one plate in front of her. There was food on it, food she had painstakingly prepared, and that she no longer felt like eating. Lia looked up at the clock. Nine past ten. Carl wouldn’t be home tonight. Like always. She knew, had probably known since the morning, if she was being honest. She didn't feel like being honest. The nights when he did, unexpectedly, do come home, he would berate her for not making him dinner. But his anger was so much easier to stomach than waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to come home who never did, and watch the steam curl over the food she had prepared float to the ceiling. To see another meal go to waste, to give in to the inevitable and eat alone, while across from the table, the other plate grew cold. Just like today. Just like any other day. 

Lia wondered if Carl had even noticed that she had gone back on suppressants. If he did, he never mentioned. He never even looked at her twice, either. So much for all that lovey crap they’d told her at the academy. Find an alpha, they’d said, he’ll love you and you’ll have lots of babies and you’ll be happy. She was 28 now, with no loving mate and no children of her own. Sometimes, it felt like failure.  
She was mated. That was about all the good things she could say about her life. Nobody tried to look at her funny. Carl was powerful, sure, leader of some big bank or whatever. He never talked about work. He never talked about anything at all. Not with her, anyway. Lia wondered, and not for the first time, if maybe he had a lover at work. And if maybe that should bother her more than it did. Wasn’t she supposed to love him? She didn’t, she suspected. The food in front of her had gone cold, untouched.

Lia slowly got up, wandering through the dark kitchen in the dark penthouse in the dark part of the city. There were no street lamps here, almost no light pollution. That was for the poor, the forlorn, the lonely. The rich people houses were above it all, on Ashebury Hill, looming over the glowing city like watchful guardians. Or maybe like wolves, stalking their bright prey. She put the dishes into the washer after puttingher food away. No use in having good food go bad. Grey, in grey, in grey.

There was something tight sitting in her chest, constricting her lungs. Wetness in the corners of her eyes. She didn’t want to sleep in the bed she shared with Carl in name only. It was Christmas Eve, and she was alone in a dark house on a dark street in a dark part of the city. She hadn’t even bothered with a tree.

~

“I’m Lia,” she says, and the young man turns his head towards her. His eyes are less glassy now, and she can tell they are blue.

“I’m Tom,” he replies. “So, what brings you out here on Christmas Eve, then, little Miss Lia?” She has dreaded that question. She has dreaded the tilt of his head, the way he inhales, as if he was scenting her. “You’re mated,” he adds. She nods, angling her body away from his without breaking contact. 

“I was – Carl couldn’t make it.” It's his turn to nod, as if that is a perfectly legitimate reason to all but run away from home and sit with some stranger in a dark alley. Maybe, to him, it is. 

“Loneliness,” he says, looking up at the stars. He isn’t even that much taller than her, slim and with delicate fingers. She suspects that he is a whore. “I know that one.” A finger touches her shoulder. Delicate, careful. Lia feels tears gather in her eyes. 

“I don’t love him,” she says. 

~

The TV didn’t yield any distraction. The movies were overly sappy, happy affairs with joyful couples. Not even The Grinch could make her smile. She turned it off. Back to the darkness. Lia frowned. Here she was, sitting in her empty living room, in her empty house, on Christmas Eve. Something hot, uncomfortable, and fragile was sitting in her stomach. Anger, perhaps. Frustration and loneliness, more likely. She wanted to be angry. But something inside her had stopped burning white-hot a long time ago. Only embers remained of that fury. Burnt out embers. Lia got up abruptly, shattering the cup that had been sitting on her lap. Shards on the floor, and the red stain of spilled tea. Like blood. 

Lia stormed off, not bothering with the TV. She wouldn’t be alone on Christmas Eve. Her skin felt hot and prickly, her hands shaking. Signs of the heat. She had not taken the suppressants. Because maybe, some part of her had hoped, she wouldn’t need them on Christmas fucking Eve. Maybe her mate would come home and be there and they could celebrate together. Just went to show what a stupid, naïve thing she was. Carl would never come. With a snarl, she ripped open the package of pills on the mantelpiece, stuffing a few in her pocket. There was the fury, but not at Carl. He just wasn't worth it. At herself, for her stupid hope and her stupid feelings and for being an omega. Stupid. 

She wouldn’t stay in an empty house. Carl… wherever he was, she hoped he would feel as miserable as she did. Her grey, fluffy coat, the only present he ever made her that she actually liked, was ignored. Instead, she pulled on an ugly bright red jacket that didn’t match her auburn hair or her brown eyes or her yellow jeans and flung it over her shoulder carelessly. Then she left the dark house and the dark street and took the bus to Burney.

The city was bright where her home hadn’t been. Lia didn’t regret her decision to leave her home, not really, but the whole area - lit up like a fucking Christmas tree - didn’t help her feelings any. She heard people laugh, cheer, there were carols being sung and the air smelled of cinnamon, cloves and exhaust fumes. There were parents with their children, couples holding hands. Everyone seemed to know where they wanted to be. Home. Lia, suddenly, felt even more lonely than when she had been in the house.  
She did the only sensible thing she could think of: walking along the street to find an establishment where she could get as drunk as possible in as little time as possible.

~

 

“Yeah, that’s where most omegas go wrong,” Tom says. “You marry a complete stranger who’s all but bought you, and then you expect to be happy. At least I don’t have to do that. Have another pill?” She hands him her last suppressant. “Thanks.”

They sit in silence for a while, and Lia feels the wetness of the flimsy piece of cardboard under her butt seep into her jeans. She shivers. It is really, really cold.  
“What about you?” she asks. Tom shrugged. 

“I… I was supposed to work tonight,” he admitts. “But I forgot – well, you know. One of my co-workers suspects something. So I had to take a quick leave.” 

“What do you work as?” she asks, hoping it isn’t indecent of her to do so. He isn’t wearing that many clothes. 

“Construction,” he answers, then smirks at her incredulous gawking. “Not what you expected, Miss Lia?” She shakes her head mutely. Not at all what she has expected. “I sweat like a pig,” Tom says, suddenly, gets up and pulls her to her feet. “Let’s go down to the river. You got a jacket?” She shakesher head. He shrugs. “Come anyway?” 

~

The music was loud, the beat echoing in her body. Lights, more obscuring than illuminating, danced across her skin, making her look sick and overly alive in turns. Lia was dancing.

She didn’t care that everyone around was five to six years younger than her, better dressed for dancing, and obviously high or outrageously drunk. She planned on not caring about anything tonight.  
Bodies pressed tight to hers – the room was packed. She felt hands on her hips, skimming her thighs or breasts or back, making her move with them or pushing her aside. She felt her head emptying with the third or sixth glass pushed at her, or maybe she’d bought them, or maybe they were stolen. Lia was dancing, swaying with the beat, and someone tilted her head back, exposing her neck. A nose there, inhaling softly, a growl that she felt in her stomach. Lips on hers, demanding, and she hadn’t felt that alive in forever. A tongue in her mouth, arms around her shoulders, hips making hers move in tandem with them, and suddenly – 

“Urghs, you’re mated.” Lia’s eyes snapped open, staring into the face of a man – a boy, more like – of maybe 20 years. “You reek of it. First I thought it was the booze. Bleugh. Should’a said somethin’.”

Lia fled the club. The cool night air hit her face like a slap. What had she been thinking? Making out with a stranger ten years younger than her. In a club. On Christmas Eve. Heat pooled in her stomach, her cheeks. She must’ve been a lot closer to that heat than she’d thought. She shook her head. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She should just head home, clean her hair, her face, her body. The thought of the empty house wasn’t appealing. Instead of going to the nearest bus station, she wandered around aimlessly. Maybe there was some other place where she could - just be. Just for tonight.

Lia turned away from where she could just make out Ashebury Hill in the distance. Going home wouldn’t make her feel better.  
Someone grabbed her arm. She whirled around, looking at the face of an old man. He reeked of booze – or maybe that was her. 

“Heya, sweetums,” he said, “y’smell d’licious.” 

“I do not,” she retorted, trying to yank her arm free. 

“Yo an omeg’in heat.” 

“I am not.” 

“Y’should come w’me.” He pulled, and she must have been more drunk than she thought, because she was stumbling after him with little chance of defending herself. 

“Let me go!” Her voice echoed, loudly, but nobody was turning around. The people were too absorbed in their holiday cheer to notice. Lia tried scratching his face, his arms, anywhere she could reach, but the man just laughed. 

“A fighter, huh?”

“You should maybe let the little Miss go.”

~

 

It is, impossibly, even colder at the river. 

“They fucked me up good,” Tom says, looking out over the small boats with their fairy lights. “I don’t smell anymore.” Lia has noticed. How could she not have? A delta. Someone with no scent of their own – that’s why she has assumed he works as a prostitute. They tend to, because there were these meds that could make them smell like an omega in heat. 

“You weren’t born one?” Tom laughs. It comes from deep within his belly, a laugh that shakes his lean frame and makes his brown hair bounce. It's not a pretty smile, it seems to rattle his bones and his heart and shatter something inside her. Or maybe himself.  
“Nah, I was born – well, like you, all things considered.” Lia blinks. 

“Like me?” What is that supposed to mean, like her. “There are no male omegas.” 

“True.” 

“You’re a man.” 

“Also true.” 

“I’m an omega. You can’t have been born like me – oh.” 

“And the penny drops,” Tom says, softly. 

“Oh,” Lia repeats.

~

“Wha’?” The man stared, unseeing, at the short figure approaching. 

“I said,” the man repeated, voice deep and a little rough, “that you should let the little Miss go.” There was a warning in his voice, sitting right there at the edge, but the stranger holding onto Lia didn’t hear it. 

“Nah, that’ one’sa comin’ wi’me. She’s a bitch in heat.” Lia could see the anger burning in the other man’s eyes.  
It was all the warning he gave before sucker-punching the guy holding onto her. He staggered back, hand over his nose, and let go of Lia. 

“C’mon, we gotta go!” Her rescuer grabbed her shirt sleeve and pulled. And this time, Lia followed willingly. He ran into a dark side street littered with dirt, and Lia staggered, grabbing onto the concrete stones for support. Her head was spinning, her legs weak. “Come on!” the man repeated, and she followed. Adrenaline burned in her lungs, hot and feverish and so, so alive. She hadn't felt this alive in months, maybe years, just running with some stranger in some dark alley in the brightly lit city on Christmas Eve. 

He came to a halt in an even darker spot and sank down into a flimsy piece of cardboard. Lia all but collapsed next to him. Her heart was racing. It felt really, really good. 

“Thanks,” she gasped. He nodded. 

“Say,” he asked, voice slow and careful, “you’re an omega, yes? Close to your heat? Alone?” 

“Yes…?” She inched away from him, suddenly afraid. She had just escaped. He wouldn’t… would he?

“Do you have any suppressants on you, and can I have some?”

It was almost a relief to hear he was a junkie. Lia took out one of her precious pills and gave it to him. She owed him that much, surely. Never mind that she only had those. Never mind that her own heat would hit full force around tomorrow morning. She felt alive, and like making a stupid decision. So she watched him swallow down the little white round thing, and said nothing.

~

“So…” Tom says, as the silence grows awkward. “Is it that bad?” 

“What? Oh, no,” Lia hurries to say. “I just have never met a trans… omega? What do you call yourself?” 

“Tom, usually,” he says with a lopsided grin. So carefree. “Just Tom. Makes things easier.” Lia nods. She can understand that, at least. “I didn’t want to get married. I also didn’t want to be a woman. So it seemed only logical,” he adds. “Should’ve paid more attention with the clinic, though.” A shrug. “They fucked me up good. I may not be a woman, or an omega, anymore. But I sure as hell ain’t no beta, like they promised, either.” 

“I’m sorry,” Lia says, because what else can she say? And then: “My mate never comes home. I haven’t seen him in two weeks. And I haven’t even bought a Christmas tree. Or any presents.” Her laugh after is wet. “I thought I would be happy.” 

“Yeah,” Tom sighs. “I know.” 

They stand in silence once more, but this time, it doesn’t feel quite as bad. It is almost comfortable. 

“Hey, Tom?” Lia asks, softly. Stupid decisions. “I could really, really do with a friend. And Carl never comes home. Would you like to…?” She doesn’t know what she isasking. Spend the night with her? Be her friend? But her heart beat is frantic, her cheeks are red, and she feels alive. Tom makes her feel alive. Maybe it doesn't work out, maybe he will laugh at her and say no and -  
It is a stupid idea, a reckless idea, but she has been so lonely. And Tom is nice. He also has, rather conveniently, no scent. Carl would never even know, if he did decide to come home. 

“There’s dinner.” Tom looks at her for a long time, studying her face, her getup. Then he shrugs.

“Sure,” he says. “Why not. I could really use some dinner.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here you go, a semi-happy end to go with this heap of whatever it is^^ I was having fun writing it,  
> and I know you like angst. I didn't have the heart to add a real asshole, so you gotta live with the mess  
> that are Lia and Tom. I hope you like it!


End file.
